Here We Stand

Island; 2008

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For such self-styled pub hooligans, Glasgow trio the Fratellis really struggle to get the breathalyzer jumpin'. Their clumsy enunciations and girl-bitten angst have earned plenty of bread, thanks largely to UK audiences' infatuation with Pete Doherty-like behavioral patterns, but the drunken rock posturing here is just a bunch of beer cans filled with Kool-Aid. The band's 2007 debut Costello Music, which can be heard by tuning your TV to practically any ad, hedged its shameless derivation with twitchy compulsion, copping seminal British rock in quick enough succession to absolve the band, at least partially. Here We Stand, a thoroughly complacent, watered-down effort, can only wish to be so lucky.

The Fratellis' darkest moments are lined with a juvenile harmlessness. Apparently charges of misogyny and recklessness get thrown at these guys, but I don't see any vulgarity in occasional "c" words ("I'm a cynical cunt/ And I'm much too lazy to change"), especially when used in toothless Neil Diamond sound-alike "Look Out Sunshine!" Sure, the crosshairs stay fixed on women throughout the album, but the band's limp attempts at machismo preclude any potential male chauvinism, or catchiness. First single "Mistress Mabel" digs a new low for the group, its easy-to-swallow blues riffs venturing into Hootie territory and beyond. Arguably one of their most challenging love screeds, "Jesus Stole My Baby" derides a religious chick, though the gesture's diminished, seeing as how the band didn't wish to include the track on their U.S. release and possibly alienate pious consumers.

Ultimately, though, I'd rather hear the Fratellis become better musicians than become bigger assholes. When true to their own innocuous selves, they can sound somewhat pleasant, if not charming. "Babydoll" doesn't dress its 1960s pop sources in bells, whistles, or alpha dog affectation, and, after a vestigial intro riff, the similarly nostalgic "Lupe Brown" achieves similar success. Sluggish Arctic Monkeys aping and clumsy blues swagger fill out the rest of the album, with frontman Jon Fratelli neither witty or loveably debauched enough to pull off either style.

Now for the big question: Can the Fratellis really be this ignorant of their own unoriginality? On its brighter spots, Costello Music at least knew what it was doing, borrowing feverishly, but in an engaging manner. On this follow-up, they're simply grasping for straws. For example, Jon mocks the eponymous female and her genre on "Acid Jazz Singer", only to sound even more ridiculous doing the kind of country-blues muzak ballad reserved for chili cook-offs. Even worse, do they realize the "She can't help it/ The girl can't help it" intro to clunker "Stragglers Moon" eerily resembles the Little Richard sample from Fergie's "Clumsy"? The Fratellis have comfortably nestled themselves among the ranks of British rock's most besotted, but even relative to their contemporaries they still manage to come off sounding bored, tired, and downright silly-- a sad feat considering they're probably not even drunk.